Virtue and Vice
Considering the great variety which exists in the character, shape,
size, colour, and appearance of hawks, it may be easily supposed that
they differ also in strength, speed, and general capability. Perhaps
the most notable of all points in which they are distinguished is in
the matter of temper. Not only will the young birds from different
eyries be unlike in this respect, but the very same nest may produce
one good-tempered hawk, and another sulky; one bold and confiding,
another timid and suspicious; one vivacious and greedy after her food,
and another dull, sluggish, and indifferent about her meals. Nor are
these discrepancies the result, apparently, of any different dieting
or treatment. They exhibit themselves in eyesses in the very earliest
days of hack, or even before, and usually continue for a long time,
if not for life. No doubt a good-tempered hawk may, by falling into
bad hands, be changed into a bad-tempered one; and some of those which
seemed worst tempered when first caught, or when first taken up from
hack, have by skilful management become quite amiable and well-behaved.
But the amount of care and art required for the one sort is very
different from that needed for the other; and very few beginners will
be likely to achieve much success with a pupil which is thoroughly
unmanageable by nature. Sparrow-hawks, especially eyesses, are, as has
already been said, the most naturally untamable of the hawks usually
trained, with golden eagles a pretty good second; and the most amenable
are hobbies and merlins, which often seem as if they rather liked
being trained. Nothing more need be said here about tempers than that
with a troublesome pupil the trainer must be extra patient and extra
cautious, and be continually on his guard against making a mistake.
Hawks are from their earliest days very good judges of character;
and the more distrustful and apt to take offence any one of them may
be, the more determined must the falconer show himself to keep his
temper and exhibit a philosophic calm in his demeanour. The petulance
and restiveness which some hawks display vanish to an extraordinary
extent if such ebullitions of temper are quietly ignored, and the
offender, apparently wishing to make herself designedly disagreeable,
finds herself treated as if she had played quite an amiable part. But
the least sign of impatience or anger on the part of the falconer is
noted by an ill-conditioned hawk, which thereupon seems to take a real
delight in further aggravating her imprudent or hasty master.
There is a whole world of difference between the breaking of dogs and
the breaking of hawks. The former know when they deserve punishment,
and actually expect it. They respect a man for chastising them when
they have done wrong, and rather despise him if he ignores the fault.
A hawk, on the other hand, must never be punished, at least openly. To
strike a hawk, or rate her, is to forfeit at once her respect, and what
may be called her affection. A dog is a slave by immemorial habit. He
knows intuitively that he is dependent upon man as a master. But the
hawk, if she is worth her salt, knows nothing of the kind. Turn her
loose, and instead of starving or begging, like the lost dog, she will
well shift for herself. She looks upon man as an ally rather than a
master. She likes to be treated as a friend and equal, rather than as
a dependant and a servant. Falcons, especially,--that is, the females
of the long-winged hawks,--are excessively proud, and even haughty;
and are mortally offended if any indignity is offered them. But no
matter what the hawk may be, the true policy is constant kindliness,
or at least the outward semblance of it--a policy of rewards and not
of punishments. Endeavour always to impress upon her the idea that you
are her very best friend; that her chief enjoyments in life are due
to your foresight and assistance; that her food, her bath, the block
on which she stands at ease, the well-padded, sheltered perch, and,
last but not least, the opportunities for good and successful flights,
are provided by you. Then will she, in the language of the mediæval
falconers, rejoice at the sight of you, and like no place so well as
the fist. Then will she fly the better when your voice cheers her on,
and begin her meal more comfortably when you are standing or sitting
by. It is well to treat the ill-tempered hawk somewhat as Mrs. Gummidge
was treated, by making allowances. Possibly she may some day surprise
you by the display of unsuspected virtues.
Passing from the mental to the bodily characteristics of hawks, we find
that occasionally two hawks are so alike that it is almost impossible
to distinguish them except by their jesses, while others of the same
kind and sex are so dissimilar that a stranger may find it difficult
to believe that they do not belong to different species. There are,
naturally enough, good and bad hawks of every shape, size, and colour;
and it would be very rash to pronounce off-hand at the first sight
of one that she is worth more than any other. Nevertheless there are
certain peculiarities which are found in the average of instances,
taking many together, to belong more commonly to the best hawks, and
others which in the great majority of cases betray the bad performer.
These have always been remarked. They are mentioned in many ancient
books, written in many languages; and there can be no doubt that after
taking a good look at several individuals, an experienced judge will
pick out those which he would prefer to possess if he had the choice.
John Barr told me upon this subject a rather pleasant story. He was
travelling southwards with a large number of hawks by train, when at
an intermediate station he met with the late Prince Dhuleep Singh, who
during a great part of his life was a most enthusiastic and successful
falconer, by whom Barr was at one time employed. The Prince immediately
inspected the hawks, which, I believe, were the same that were
afterwards flown at Epsom, and in the course of conversation pointed
out in their order the hawks which were likely to do best. The falconer
mentally noted the selection thus made, and afterwards found that it
was accurately justified by the result.
It is somewhat curious that the same characteristics which in one
species of hawks mark out an individual for admiration or the reverse,
are mostly found to serve a like purpose in the other species. The
following short remarks, therefore, unless when otherwise specified,
may be taken as applying to hawks in general.
One of the very first points of which a critic will take note is the
foot of a hawk. Long toes are a great merit; and if they are slender
and well separated at the bases, it will be all the better. Nor is
there anything mysterious or unnatural in this, for, the wider the area
which the hawk's foot can cover, the better chance she obviously has
of catching hold with one talon or the other of the quarry at which
she strikes. Another notable characteristic of the best feet is that
they fasten themselves naturally with a clinging grip to the object
of which they take hold, adhering so closely to a glove or any soft
surface that they seem almost to be glued or stuck to it, and can only
with difficulty be removed. In fact, the feet of some hawks, when they
have taken a firm hold, can only be got off by picking the talons or
claws out one after another with the hand. The hawks which thus clutch
are almost always good killers in the field. Many falconers attach some
importance to the colour of a hawk's feet. Major Fisher declares that
a nestling peregrine with yellow feet is of little worth, and that the
best colour is lead-grey or greenish grey. Merlins in their early days
often have very pale feet, but some of the best of them, when in high
condition and fed daily on freshly-killed larks, will put on a bright
yellow and even a somewhat orange hue. Bright colours are undoubtedly a
sign of health, though they may not be of strength, speed, or courage.
The power which a hawk has in her feet seems usually to be a sure
indication of corresponding vigour in the rest of her body.
The head of a specially good hawk is seldom big or round, but
wedge-shaped, narrowing from the back rapidly towards the base of the
beak, and rather flat on the top than dome-shaped; and there is a
prominent eyebrow, with a keen eye, very full and bright. The shoulders
come very high up, and are square, as they would be called in a man.
There is a great deal of breadth in the upper back and in the breast,
where the pectoral muscles are situated, and these muscles may be
felt by the hand extending in a firm and ample bulk under the upper
points of the wings. The wings themselves have also an appearance of
size and strength, and each feather, if separated from the next, is
seen to have a broad web and stout shaft. The same may be said of the
tail feathers; but in these no extra length is desirable. A short
tail with plenty of strength and solidity is better both for useful
and ornamental purposes; and a hawk with a long flexible train like a
kestrel is not to be preferred. A strong and fast hawk often folds her
wings close together, so that the points cross one another quite high
up over the tail. The nostrils of a hawk should be large, and the beak
short. No indication can be derived from the general colour of the
feathers, whether dark or light. As regards size, there is a prejudice
against big falcons and small tiercels; but this does not hold good
with regard to the short-winged hawks, in which strength is often the
chief desideratum. In the case of peregrines a very large falcon is
often clumsy; and the majority of brilliant performers whose names
have come down with honour in the annals of falconry, were rather under
than over the average size. One of the most famous peregrines of this
century (Aurora by name) was of such an intermediate size that her
owner for some considerable time mistook the sex. As for merlins, I do
not remember any exceptionally big one that was not particularly stupid
and remarkably slow. A specially small jack, however, is by no means
invariably a duffer.
So much for the appearance of hawks when standing at ease on the
block or perch. As soon as they are put on the wing the task of
distinguishing between them in point of merit becomes very much more
easy. The good hawk, when in good condition, has a buoyancy in the
air which is wanting in the other. She flies with less effort, and
as if she liked the exercise. It seems as natural to her to fly in a
slanting line upwards as on a level. When she spreads her wings and
sails along they are held out to the very farthest possible extent, and
kept "flat": that is to say, the tips are on a level with the back of
the head, or even a little above it. The fast flier does not usually go
along steadily through the air, moving, as a boating man would say, on
an even keel. On a windy day one wing is often higher than the other,
and her course swerves more or less from time to time as she utilises
or counteracts with a marvellous art, not understood of men, the
wayward pressure of the disturbed air. If you have to choose between a
hack hawk, which makes her way along with regular beats of beautifully
even wings, like a heron or a dove, and one which hurls herself forward
in unexpected lines like a lapwing, by all means choose the latter. Do
not suppose that either lapwings or haggard peregrines go crooked by
accident, or because they know no better. They can go straight enough
if they choose, and will do so if it happens to be their game to play.
But just as a skater, having only one skate on the ice, can go along if
he moves in divergent lines but not if he attempts to keep a straight
line, so it seems that by a sort of zigzaggy course more pace can be
got up than by mere plodding straight-forward work. It is only after
watching many hundreds of flights that a man can hope even to begin to
understand how birds, both pursuer and pursued, manoeuvre in the air,
trimming their sails, so to speak, so as to increase to the utmost, the
one the momentum of her stoop, and the other the speed and suddenness
of its shift.
Haggards, and the cleverest younger falcons, fly more with the outer
part of the wing than with the part nearest the body. They work, in
fact, rather with the joint which in the human body is the wrist than
by the movement of the whole arm from the shoulder. The saving of
labour so effected is obvious enough. Only, in order to fly thus, the
shoulders must be thrown very far back, and the chest far more widely
opened than it is by most eyesses. When a hawk in stretching her wings
while standing on the block raises them far above her head, or when,
having bated off, she hangs down from the fist, and, flopping with her
wings, brings them so near together behind her that they seem almost
about to touch, be sure that that hawk will fly better than one which
carries her wings back to about a level with her back only. It is
in stooping at the lure that you can judge best as to the merits of
rook-hawks or lark-hawks, while, of course, those of game-hawks and
duck-hawks are best tested by merely waiting on. In the latter and more
simple case that hawk will be preferred which goes up quickest and to
the highest pitch without raking away too far. But note, in stooping to
the lure, which comes at it with the most headlong dash, and, having
missed it, throws up soonest and highest. In a hard flight that hawk is
most successful which after each stoop shoots up farthest, rebounding,
as it were, from the unsuccessful stoop, and so keeping the command
of the air, so that the quarry, even after the cleverest shift, still
finds his adversary on a higher level than himself. The best hawks
take great delight in stooping at the lure, and may be cheered when
they make a brilliant cut at it, which will increase their excitement
and zest. Sometimes, getting to a distance from the falconer, they
will rush in at their very best speed, and, on the lure being twitched
aside, will shoot up almost in a perpendicular line; then, turning
a sort of half-somersault, they will come down in almost the same
perpendicular line with the way of the original impetus apparently
still on them. A good "footer" at the lure is usually a good footer at
her quarry; and good footing is one of the most deadly qualities any
hawk can possess.
Another remarkable thing about hawks is that those which are the
best-tempered are generally the boldest, strongest, and best fliers.
The reason is doubtless that bad temper proceeds to a large extent from
timidity; and timidity of mind is, in nine cases out of ten, either due
to bodily weakness, or at least connected with it. By bad temper I do
not, of course, understand mere anger. Some of the hawks which are the
fiercest and most furious when first taken out of the bow-net, prove
the easiest to reclaim, and the most obedient when trained. Sulkiness
is the worst of the natural vices, and it is unfortunately common
enough, not only in goshawks, which are notorious for it, but in all
kinds of hawks. Out of one nest I have had one merlin which was almost
the best-tempered and one which was almost the worst-tempered that ever
I saw. Eyesses are more commonly sulky than passage hawks, and very
often display signs of this defect in the days of hack. Later on this
develops into some more specific vice, which will perhaps need great
care and patience to cure or modify. A short notice of the vices most
prevalent amongst hawks will not be out of place, for the treatment of
these disorders is almost as well worth understanding as that of their
bodily ailments.
Carrying is a fault with which the falconer will generally first become
acquainted. The word is ill-chosen, or rather ill-adapted from the
Norman "charrier." It would have been better if our ancestors had used
such a term as "bolting" or "lifting," so that no confusion need have
arisen between the word carrying, as applied to holding a hawk on the
fist, and as applied to the hawk's action in taking up and flying away
with her food. However, be the name what it may, the practice is one
to which all hawks are more or less naturally addicted, although some
in a very much greater degree than others. Merlins and hobbies are the
most notorious offenders, and wild-caught hawks of the long-winged
kinds, though not always troublesome in this way, must be prevented for
a long time from developing this habit, or they will infallibly become
spoilt and lost. In the chapter on Training, some directions are given
for guarding against this predisposition, and curing the mischief when
it has already arisen. But of all safeguards and remedies, by far the
best is the habit already referred to of constantly instilling into the
hawk the idea that your near presence is a thing to be desired, and not
disliked. If a merlin or any other hawk shows the least inclination to
carry when flying to the lure, or when being taken up from it, I would,
for a time at least, never go near her on any occasion without taking a
piece of food in the hand and giving it to her. By this means in a few
days she will look out for your coming, and even listen for your step
with all the pleasurable expectation that other tame animals await the
coming of their feeder. And in taking her up have always on your hand
a piece of food which is either more tempting or at least more easily
devoured than that which she has in her foot. Let the tit-bit be a
"mess of pottage"--but not necessarily a big one--for the immediate
fruition of which the silly bird (as Turbervile calls her) will barter
away all the prospective advantages of a freshly-killed partridge or a
dainty pigeon. These latter have to be plucked, mark you, before they
can be eaten, whereas the bright red morsel in your hand can be begun
at once, without any such trouble and delay.
In bad cases the vice of carrying may be corrected by a rather strong
remedy, which, like all other hawking devices, has long been practised.
Before resorting to it, see that the lure which you are going to use,
whether live or dead, is quite a light one, but very firmly fixed
up, so that no part of it, or no part of the food with which it is
garnished, can come away. Then exercise your ill-behaved hawk in
whatever way you prefer, and let her ultimately get the lure and have
it on the ground in her foot. This lure will have a fairly long creance
to it; and you will keep hold all the time of the end of the line. Now,
as your hawk is on the ground with her food, begin to make in as if you
were approaching her after a real flight. You may, however, do so much
less cautiously. If she bolts with her meal, let her go four or five
yards, and then, with a sharp, sudden pull on the string, twitch the
whole apparatus out of her foot, and let it come flying back towards
you. What with the "way" that the hawk has on her, and the suddenness
of your pull on the string, the lure, if properly fixed up, is bound to
be jerked away; and my lady will have to trouble herself to turn round
and come back towards you. But, of course, if you so arrange your lure
that it will part, and the edible portion of it remain with the hawk,
while the inedible comes back to you with the creance, you will have
done ten times more harm than you expected to do good. A few lessons of
this kind will often cure even a determined carrier. But I have known
merlins which were cunning enough never to carry a light lure, knowing
from experience that it would be a mere waste of time, and yet, when
they had taken a wild lark, never doubted that they could make off with
it if they liked.
There is a special sort of carrying to which many long-winged hawks
are prone, and it is still more difficult to cure than the practice
commonly so called. A hawk which is much fed on the fist, and little
on the ground--especially on damp or uncomfortable ground--will, after
taking her quarry and killing it, stand still on the ground, looking
round with a restless air. And after a while, thinking, apparently,
that the spot where she is is not exactly the most convenient that
could be found for a meal, will get up, pelt in hand, and fly off
in search of one more desirable. This is done out of no feeling of
mistrust or deliberate conviction that her prize is likely to be taken
from her. Thus the fact that the hawk is quite tame, and even likes
your company at her dinner, is no safeguard against this vexatious
habit. I have known a jack-merlin which was frequently easy to take up,
bolt with a full-sized lark, and carry it, as if it weighed no more
than a feather, for nearly half a mile, searching for a place which
was good enough for my lord to picnic on, and disdaining several flat
mounds which lay in his way, and which would have formed luxurious
tables. The same hawk once carried a lark about six hundred yards in
one direction, and then, seeing no specially attractive ground on that
side, came back the whole way, and, flying past at about fifty yards
distance, settled on a rough, dirty heap two or three hundred yards
in a different direction. Had he gone straight on for the same length
of time in the original direction, he would either have been lost and
left out, or only found by accident after a search of long duration.
Sometimes a hawk, too dainty to feed on the ground amongst prickly
stubble or tall, wet turnip-leaves, will go off with her quarry into
a tree, which is not a particularly comfortable dining-place, but
which she chooses to prefer. Mr. St. Quintin had a fine falcon which
persisted in this vice, until he actually got rid of her.
Other hawks, especially merlins, delight in going off to ricks to
plume and eat their quarry. There are not many trees in places where
the best merlins are flown, but there are always plenty of ricks.
Sometimes it is possible to climb these structures; and many a time has
the falconer, if a small man, been hoisted up on the shoulders of some
stalwart friend, or, if he is stalwart himself, has given a back to
some smaller man, or even a man and a boy, ladderwise. Often, however,
the rick is unclimbable. Then what is to be done? for you cannot drag a
ladder for miles over the downs. The surest way is to carry a long coil
of string, with a bullet at one end. Stand at one side of the rick on
which your hawk is quietly and contentedly plucking her victim; sling
the bullet over the top of the rick, and as nearly over the head of the
hawk herself as your skill and the wind will allow. Then, if you have
an attendant, let him take hold of the end of the string which has no
bullet attached, and which has not gone flying over the rick. If you
have no companion, peg down this last-mentioned end at a good distance
from the rick. Then walk to the other side and pick up the bullet.
Pulling the string taut, drag it sideways, so that the line scrapes
along the top of the rick, and, coming to the hawk's self-chosen
dining-place, sweeps the whole affair, dinner, hawk, and all, away. If
the line should get entangled in the quarry, so much the better; you
can pull it down to the ground. If not, the hawk may, of course, carry
to another rick, and recommence the same trick. But after repeated
scrapings-off she generally gets sick of the worry, and condescends to
go down to the ground.
A simpler and more unceremonious way of interfering with the offender
is to pelt her with clods of earth, or even flints, until one of them
either hits her or goes so near that she thinks it advisable to decamp.
I have known a hawk sit so stolidly on a rick that though flints went
within two inches on either side of her, she took no notice, and
went on eating. Others, old offenders, know as well as their master
what happens when they go to rick. They would be rather surprised if
they did not see him bending down as he makes his way towards them,
collecting suitable missiles, and if he did not begin at once the
familiar sport of hawk-stoning. Such hawks may be called rick-hawks;
and they are about as trying to the temper as anything which the
falconer has to contend with. They are, however, not quite so bad as
tree-hawks. A falconer who is possessed of one of these last-named
treasures must add to his other accomplishments that of being a good
shot with a small stone.
What remedy there is for the hawk which carries out of pure caprice
it is not easy to say. In the first place, she must be habituated to
take some of her food on the ground--tirings anyhow, which hitherto
have perhaps been taken on the block or the perch. Let them be fastened
down by a peg or a weight, sometimes on damp ground, sometimes even in
prickly stubbles, so that the over-dainty hawk may learn that eating
on the ground is not so bad after all. Then she ought to be flown
sharp-set, so that, being in a hurry for her food, she should be glad
enough to pluck it quickly and on the first place where she alights.
Give this sort of hawk as large a quantity of flying as ever you can.
Fly her, if you have the choice, at the most difficult quarry, and in
the most difficult places. Never mind so much if she succeeds or not.
It is better to lose a few rooks or partridges than to lose your hawk.
Fly her, therefore, as often and as hard as you can. Never mind whether
her score or her average is bad. It is better to make a poor score
than to think your hawk is a good one when she isn't. A good deal of
the restlessness which makes a hawk flit about with her quarry is due
to her being short of exercise. If, therefore, you can make your hawk
fly more, either at the lure or in the field, than she has a mind to,
she is much less likely to go fooling about before attending to the
business of feeding herself. Of course it is very difficult to do this,
as twenty or thirty miles more or less is a mere exercise canter for a
peregrine. But many trained hawks get a great deal less than this in a
whole day.
There is a device which I should like to see tried with a carrying
hawk, but it requires some patience and good temper. Get some stuffed
birds of the proper kind, at which you mean to fly your hawk; use them,
unweighted, as lures, and when the hawk has taken them and come down,
let go the string and approach her cautiously with food in hand as if
you were making in to her after killing a real bird. If she bolts, let
her go and make what she can of the stuffed bird. About twenty minutes
after you will have her back, furious, but perhaps less ready to bolt
away from the food in your hand--a sadder, but possibly a wiser, hawk.
When a hawk, being carried on the fist bareheaded, ready to be thrown
off at quarry, keeps jumping off in a tiresome way at nothing, ten to
one she is not quite ready to fly. Better put on her hood and let her
wait for an hour or so, and go on with another hawk, if you have one to
fly, and, if not, light a pipe. Hurry no man's hawks, not even your own.
It would be rather a misnomer to call soaring a vice. This, which is
one of the most beautiful accomplishments of the wild falcon, is the
natural mode of taking daily exercise. To see it in perfection, look
at a wild peregrine or a wild hobby--you have there what enthusiasts
describe as the poetry of motion. All hawks, eagles and vultures soar
by nature. It is their way of stretching their wings, and of taking
the air where it is cool and fresh. Kestrels do a sort of humble
soaring in search of their food, and hobbies actually feed themselves,
like swifts, on the wing. To say, therefore, that a trained hawk
which adopts this orthodox method of keeping herself fit is thereby
committing a fault, is rather hard upon her. Nevertheless it is a very
vexatious habit, when over-indulged in, and, speaking from a practical
point of view, is not to be too much encouraged. Hobbies, when flown
in the middle of the day, even sharp-set, will stay up constantly for
a quarter of an hour and even more, taking little apparent notice of
the swung lure, or at the most striking at it without catching hold,
or at least coming down with it to the ground. To do them justice,
they seldom go far away, but often look as if they meant to do so,
which, indeed, they occasionally do, especially at migrating times. But
a peregrine which has taken to the soar often seems so engrossed in
the pleasant occupation as to forget all about mundane affairs, and,
sailing along in ever-widening circles, drifts farther and farther
down-wind, until the falconer, if unmounted, can keep her in view no
longer. Then, when she is beginning to tire of her amusement, and to
remember that she has, after all, a crop to fill, she will very likely
wing her way back to where she last saw the falconer wistfully swinging
her despised lure. But what if an unlucky pigeon then heaves in sight?
or if some unsuspecting yokel puts up a partridge or a rook? There is
nothing to prevent her from having a shot at it: and, if she kills,
good-bye to my lady for that day. If you find her, it will be more by
good luck than anything else.
Hawks will go soaring because they are short of exercise, because they
feel hot from insufficient bathing, or because, not being particularly
hungry, they prefer a few minutes' free roaming about to immediately
dining. Consequently a hawk which has shown herself fond of the
practice and slow at coming to the dead lure, should be offered a
bath whenever she is at all likely to take it--once a day, in very
hot weather. She should have lots of flying and stooping to the lure,
for, as she is fond of the upper air, there is the less chance of her
hanging about round the falconer and spoiling her pitch. Finally, she
should be a bit keen after her food before she is put on the wing.
Soaring and waiting on are analogous things, or rather they are the
same with a difference. The best game-hawks, which wait on mountains
high, are soaring as they do so; that is, the movement of the wings
is the same, but the difference is that the waiter-on is, as it were,
anchored to a fixed point below--the man or the dog, whereas the
soarer is merely floating about like a yacht which has no particular
destination.
The vice of raking away differs only from that of soaring away by the
fact that it may be done at any height. Half-trained hawks, before they
have done any real work in the field, are very apt to wait on in the
wrong place. They know as much as that they are expected to keep within
sight of the falconer, but not that they ought to be directly overhead;
and, through laziness, or because they prefer stooping at the lure
up-wind, they allow themselves to drift away to lee. Hardly have they
come up level with the man than they at once fall back on the wind,
lowering their pitch, if pitch it can be called, so that for all useful
purposes their attendance is a mere sham, and they might as well be on
the falconer's glove. Repeating this idiotic performance in the field,
they are some hundreds of yards to leeward, and at a low elevation,
when the grouse or partridge get up, and a stern-chase ensues, in which
the quarry, going up-wind, gets the best of it. For this annoying vice
there is no direct remedy. Experience may be expected to teach the
young hawk better. One plan is to let loose pigeons, while the hawk is
so waiting on, so that, after missing some, by reason of raking and
low flying, and perhaps catching others when flying properly, she may
understand at last how success is to be had.
Checking is a crime to which we are not now so much exposed as were the
old falconers. Bird life is not so abundant now, at least in England,
that a hawk is confronted often with an _embarras de richesses_, and
leaves her legitimate quarry for a stray bird of a different species.
Eyesses, indeed, if kept to one quarry, will often hardly be induced
to pursue any other. Passage hawks are more ready to check at birds
which cross their path. It would be rather too much to expect a haggard
falcon, which in her time has struck down birds of fifty different
kinds, to discriminate very nicely between a plump partridge and a fat
wood-pigeon when Providence threw either within reach of an easy stoop.
It is when a passage hawk has been flown at rooks in the spring, and
afterwards at game in the game season, that there is the chief danger
of checking. As long as the sable quarry is alone attempted the risk
is not great. The hawk is flown out of the hood at quarry actually in
sight. It is only when that quarry has saved itself that the temptation
to check occurs, and at that moment there are, or ought to be, lures
waving near at hand. But encourage the rook-hawk to become a game-hawk,
and the case is altogether changed. She has to go up alone, with
nothing particular in view, and wait aloft till the falconer springs
her quarry. Moreover, she knows now that rooks are not the only lawful
game. She is at full liberty to go at grouse; and, if grouse, why not
wood-pigeons and house-pigeons, gulls, or curlew? Why not anything
which is desirable, and which "tempts her roving eyes"?
The besetting sin of the checking peregrine is the chase of pigeons,
wild and tame. Often, it must be admitted, this sin is the outcome
of the falconer's own action. Has he not himself used a pigeon as a
live lure? Has he not, when teaching his pupil to wait on, let loose
a pigeon with the express intention that she should fly it? If he has
never had occasion to do so in training his passage hawk he has been
exceptionally lucky. As regards pigeons, it is generally pretty easy to
break peregrines of checking at them as soon as they have once begun
to fly at game. To achieve this feat get a good number of very good
pigeons--say a dozen, the faster the better; make the hawk wait on at a
short distance--say 600 yards--from some covert in which the pigeon, if
he can get as far, will be safe from pursuit; then, while the hawk is
waiting on that side of you which is farthest from the covert, let go
one of the pigeons. The hawk will start, but the pigeon, if a good one,
will manage to make the covert; the hawk will throw up, and, if all
is well, come down to your dead lure. Repeat this performance, always
making as sure as you can that the pigeon will save himself, until
your pupil has got sick of the whole business, and at last refuses to
go for such disappointing quarry. If you can put in, between whiles,
an easy flight at a grouse or partridge, and reward the hawk well upon
it, the contrast will be all the more striking, and she will begin to
have a settled conviction that game-hawking is capital fun, whereas
pigeon-hawking is a fraud. It is obvious that a somewhat similar trick
may be used with regard to other birds besides pigeons--flying the hawk
in impossible places at those which you don't want her to pursue, and
in easy places at those which you do.
Some hawks, which ought to know better, from laziness or want of
condition, will not remain on the wing, but go off, after a few turns
in the air, to a tree or to the ground, and there sit waiting for the
lure, or till the spirit moves them to stir. This is disheartening
conduct, quite unworthy of a ladylike or gentlemanly hawk, and
disgraceful in a falcon-gentle. Yet so it is that many of these
high-born dames, and not a few tiercels also of noble birth, are
so lost to a sense of their own dignity that they give way to this
degrading weakness, and demean themselves to the level of a base-born
short-wing. What is to be done with them? Various devices have been
tried with varying success. In the first place, as the hawk behaves
in an ignoble manner, she cannot complain if you treat her in ignoble
wise. You may therefore ride at her as she sits on the ground, and
force her to get up, or you may throw clods at her, and drive her
out of her tree; but the surest plan--only it requires time and
patience--is to let her cure herself. Light a pipe and sit down in a
comfortable place, if such there be, and leave the sinner alone until
the spirit does move her to stir. At some time or other, varying from
five minutes to five hours, she will want the lure badly enough. Then
let her come for it. Keep her waiting on or stooping at the lure till
she has had a good dose of it, and if she goes off to perch again,
wait again till she will work for her living. Show her, in fact, that
in coming to the lure she is conferring no great favour on you, as
she seemed to imagine, but rather that the boot is on the other leg.
Next time it is more than probable that she will work a little rather
than go fasting, when she might have a good meal at once. If you have
time and patience to read her a few such lessons she may gradually be
brought to exhibit some activity. But give her a dose as well. For
liver has probably something to do with the matter, as well as mere
laziness.
A hawk which is hood-shy is a plague to you and to herself. Very
few hawks exhibit this vice except through the trainer's fault. But
trainers are not all good hooders; and a few bungling and unsuccessful
attempts at hooding will make even the best-natured hawk hate the very
sight of the hood. If, therefore, the beginner is not clever at the
art, let him practise on a kestrel. Or, if he will have one of the
better hawks, let him get a skilful hand to break her to the hood. To
hood a hawk which is already broken is a comparatively easy matter;
but it is the nature of a hawk, as of any other creature, to dislike
being blindfolded, and the wonder is that hawks can be made to submit
to it as readily as they do. Occasionally a hawk has such a rooted
objection to the proceeding that the cleverest man never succeeds in
quite overcoming it. Vesta, already mentioned, was hood-shy, though in
good hands; but even then the objection felt by the sufferer can only
by a perversion of terms be rightly called a vice. Hood-shyness, even
in a pronounced form, has often been cured, and, as has already been
said, a hood-shy hawk cannot be considered fully trained. Whenever the
hawk is difficult to hood, she should be handled constantly, and the
trainer should almost always have a hood in his right hand. The actual
condition of being hooded is not disagreeable to many hawks--it is the
indignity and discomfort involved in the process of putting on the
apparatus that give rise to the trouble. The smaller the hawk, the more
difficult she is to hood; and the mischief is not only that the hawk's
feathers are in danger whenever she is hooded against her will, but
also that her temper is ruffled, and the relations between her and her
trainer become strained.
One of the most annoying errors into which a hawk can fall, is a belief
in her own vocal powers. No hawk ever has at all a musical voice, and
the exercise of it, even in moderation, can quite well be dispensed
with. Unfortunately, most eyesses which have been taken very young
from the nest develop quite early in life a tendency to cry out. When
there are several of them together they often catch the habit from
one another, and becoming worse as their feathers come down, are by
the time they are ready to fly confirmed "screamers." No cure has, I
believe, been discovered for this vice, except that of turning them
out to hack, which in nine cases out of ten proves successful. I have
several times known a family of hawks when first turned out, to keep up
for the first day or two an almost incessant screeching, and yet I have
taken up the same birds at the end of hack completely cured. Generally,
as soon as a young hawk finds that she can expend all her superfluous
energy in flying about, and that no sort of attention is ever paid to
her eloquence, she gets tired of indulging in the weakness. I know,
however, of a case where hobbies too early taken were actually lost
at hack, and never came at all either to lure or hack board, and yet
continued to scream when quite wild for at least more than a week
afterwards.
Passage hawks, I believe, never scream. It is often supposed that no
wild hawks scream, and this, I think, is as a rule true. But I have
heard young wild kestrels scream for a few days after they could
fly, and one lot of wild merlins, though they were fully summed, and
had probably been already driven away by the parents to shift for
themselves, were what may be called bad screamers. They would scream
while soaring, ten minutes at a time, and at such a height that the
sound could only just be heard. It is true that there were trained
merlins about at the time, and possibly they may have been calling to
them. It is quite a common thing for hawks which are entirely free from
the vice to call out when they see another hawk unexpectedly. They will
do it even when they see their own likenesses in a looking-glass.
If the hawk, after being well hacked, still retains vestiges of the bad
habit, there is yet another chance. The flying and killing wild quarry
has often a magical effect in curing this vice, which would seem, like
some other malpractices, to be largely the result of idleness. Still
there are instances where, in spite of all the advantages which an
eyess enjoys, she will persist in screaming. Some of them will go so
far as to scream with the hood on, though this is rare. As a rule a
screaming hawk is not a good performer. And she ought to be a very good
one, in order to make it worth the falconer's while to be plagued with
her. If you turn her adrift you may possibly, after a few days, catch
her again and find her cured; and if not, you will not have suffered a
very severe loss.
A still more disheartening fault is that of "refusing." People who
know nothing at all about falconry are apt to suppose that when once
you have "tamed" your hawk, and can call her back to you when you
like, the only thing which remains to be done is to walk with her
into a field, show her a bird, and let her go. That she should fail
to pursue it is a contingency which does not present itself to their
minds. It is, however, unfortunately one that constantly occurs, not
only with eyesses, but also with the boldest of wild-caught hawks.
The novice gets his hawk into a fine state of obedience. She will
come a long distance to the lure as soon as it is produced. But when
the long-expected day arrives for the first flight at a wild quarry,
and perhaps an expectant field of friends turns out to see the sport,
the wild bird is put up, the hawk is thrown off with a lusty shout,
and, without taking the smallest notice of her intended victim, goes
quietly on her way either to wait on for the lure or to take perch in
a pleasant spot. Even when hawks have been entered, and have begun to
fly in earnest, you cannot be absolutely sure when you cast them off
whether they will be in the humour to do their best. They may begin
the flight in apparently faultless style, and go up bravely in the
most orthodox of rings after the ringing quarry. And then as they seem
to be getting on terms with their rook or lark, you may see the fatal
spreading of their wings, and have the painful conviction forced upon
you that they have shown the white feather and thrown up the game. This
vice--of "flying tail to tail," as the old falconers term it--is a most
disheartening one for a beginner to meet with; so much so, that some
old writers regard such a hawk as hopeless, and advise giving her away
to a friend! I have found it strongly developed in the only two hobbies
I ever tried to train; and a like result has, to my knowledge, followed
in several other instances. These hawks have made rings and followed
a wild lark up. But they have never taken even so much as a bad one!
I had a merlin which out of 41 flights killed 40 larks. But the one
occasion when she missed she refused--or at least left the lark in
the air. Possibly this was because she was flown too soon after the
last flight. But the disgrace remains recorded against her name in the
quarry-book.
To guard against this sad catastrophe you must encourage your hawk;
that is, you must keep up her courage, which is the thing most severely
tested in a ringing flight. You must feed her well; yet keep her
digestion in perfect order. And you must strengthen her muscles by
constant hard exercise. It is not enough for her to go out and kill
a couple of indifferent rooks in two or three short easy flights. If
there is not enough good quarry--difficult quarry--to be found for her,
you can give her a good spell of stooping at the lure, or in the case
of a game-hawk, a long waiting on when the wind is highest, probably
about midday. She must have tirings galore. And if she has refused
once, fly her sharp-set the next time. Hawks will refuse through
being too fat as well as through being too lean. Avoid, if possible,
giving your best hawks bad quarry, or your worst hawks any that are
too good. The former may refuse a specially good one because they are
accustomed to take duffers, and the latter may refuse because they have
not yet gained confidence in their own powers. Goshawks are capricious
creatures; they will refuse a leveret, and half an hour later fly well
at a full-grown hare. Other hawks may refuse if flown too early in the
day, and yet do a fine performance if tried again later on. With a
hawk that persistently refuses you should try every remedy that your
ingenuity will suggest as likely to inspire her with a proper sense of
her duty. Try feeding up; try flying her very hungry. Physic her for
liver, with one prescription after another. And if all fail, give the
hawk away, or, better still, cast her loose in an open country where
the keepers don't shoot hawks. She then will have the choice between
working and starving; and she will very soon know how to decide the
question.
The last, and in one way the most serious, vice which has to be
referred to, is that of "running cunning." I do not think it is common,
if even it prevails at all among passage hawks; and what there is to be
said about it in the case of eyesses, has been said in the chapter on
Lost Hawks, _à propos_ of Ruy Lopez.
We have thus a list of seven deadly sins, or so-called sins, to which
trained hawks are prone--carrying (better called lifting), refusing,
checking, perching, hood-shyness, screaming, and running cunning. There
are a few minor faults which hardly amount to more than peccadilloes,
and deserve only a passing notice. Sometimes a hawk will keep bating
off in a tiresome way. This is when she is strong and well, but short
of exercise, and perhaps a bit feverish. The remedy is simply to hood
her up. It is far less annoyance to her to stand hooded than to fatigue
or worry herself by constant tugging and straining at her jesses. But,
as a matter of fact, for hawks to stand hooded for any reasonable
time is no annoyance to them at all, after they have worn the hood a
few times. If it were, we should find that they suffered from it in
health, strength, temper, or somehow, which is not known to be the
case. Merlins, however, and male sparrow-hawks should be left unhooded
more than other hawks. And they must not be expected to fly, like
peregrines, immediately the hood is removed. The same cause will induce
hawks sometimes to pick and pull at their jesses or at the covering
of the perch, or even at the glove. The remedy is to smear the jesses
or perch or glove with aloes or some bitter preparation, which is
distasteful to them, but will do no harm if they like to go on picking,
but rather good.
It has been said (p. 32) that goshawks and sparrow-hawks cannot be
flown in casts (_i.e._ two of them together). This is on account of
the great probability that they will fight or "crab." There is also,
in the case of long-winged hawks, some danger that the like trouble
may arise, especially if one or both of the individuals thrown off has
a bad temper of her own. Accordingly, it is often well that each hawk
intended to be used for double flights should be first flown single a
few times, until she has become keen after her quarry, so that she may
be too intent upon the pursuit of it to quarrel with her colleague,
when flown double. But eyesses which have been well hacked and well
reclaimed are seldom addicted to this vice, which is still more rare
in passagers. As to the difficulties attending double flights with
merlins, see the remarks made at page 141; and as to entering a young
hawk with the assistance of an older one as "make-hawk," see pages 113,
142.
Some hawks, especially the wild-caught, will not bathe, but after
tasting the water in the bath, and perhaps making as if they would go
in, hesitate for a long time, and at last jump back to their block.
Some will not even "bowse," or sip the water. This is vexatious, for
bathing undoubtedly improves the feathers besides merely cleaning
them, and keeps the hawks free from parasites and from small attacks
of feverishness. It also cleans their feet, and makes them more hardy
and robust. The best plan in such cases is to see that the bath-water
is never too cold, to let a hawk which bathes well bathe in the sight
of the recusant, and to keep the bath on fine days within reach of the
latter. Such a hawk should also have her feet bathed now and then while
on the perch; and her beak should be kept clear of any scraps or stains
which may remain on it after feeding. This wiping of the beak should,
however, be done in any case, if the hawk is not careful herself about
feaking, or rubbing the refuse off her mandibles.
Such is the rather long list of faults and vices. Let us not end up the
chapter with these, but hark back to the virtues, and remind the reader
that these are also great. Speed, courage, mounting, and footing: these
may be called the cardinal virtues. Some hawks are born with some or
all of them: some achieve them; while upon others--well, they must be
thrust. The mode of treatment suggested in the preceding pages has
been found by long experience to be the best for developing the good
qualities in a hawk as well as for eliminating the bad. Exercise and
practice are the essential requisites. Nature is then working on the
trainer's side. Every hawk should be made as often as possible to earn
her food by hard work. And every hawk should be encouraged to take a
pleasure in her work and a pride in herself. Exercise means speed;
and speed means success. With success will naturally come courage;
and excellence in mounting and footing is no more than the inevitable
result of proper practice in the right sort of flights. All hawks
in the wild state can kill many sorts of quarry. All trained hawks,
therefore, should be able to take at least one. But if any man expects
to become a falconer off-hand, he will be disappointed. If he will
begin moderately, with one hawk,--a kestrel for choice,--and train her
single-handed and completely, he will soon be able to attempt much
greater things.